POETRY

My love has a narcissus

In her mouth

Carried with her

From a prison in Iran.


I know that from behind bars

One can see a flower

In the face of the moon,

And hear the migrating cranes

In the blue sky.

I know that behind eyelids

And inside clenched hands

And between each execution

And the lines of the last letters

And the whispering knocks on the wall

And the wet hems of sorrow

And the torn seams of joy

And the empty holes of pain

And the twilight of hope

And the hidden summit of pride

One can

Yes, one can hide Spring.


And yet, I wonder in those dark cells

How one can grow a narcissus

So white,

Without any stain of blood.


July 15, 1995